Grumpy Old Men

I remember being delighted by snow as a kid.  I would wake up on winter mornings and dash to the big window in the living room...hoping that the ground would be covered in a blanket of white.  It was a big bonus if school was also cancelled.  But even if it wasn't, snow was fun!  We'd bundle up, go outside, stay out long enough to get thoroughly cold and wet (probably all of ten minutes) and then come back in, leaving our mom to deal with the puddles where snow melted off of our boots, soggy mittens, and wet clothes.  

So this morning, when I looked outside our big living room window, I saw that my front yard was covered with a blanket of white and big, beautiful flakes were falling from the sky.  I ran downstairs to the boys' bedroom.  Normally, my children aren't easy risers...it appears that they got something from me genetically.  But surely the announcement of SNOW would have them popping up out of bed and racing for their boots.  

Umm...yeah...not so much.  The nine-year-old rolled over in his bed and started crying (tears and everything).  "I HATE snow!!" he lamented.  The eleven-year-old (who is too big to cry) started grumbling.  "UGGGHH!!  WHY does it have to SNOW???  I can't STAND the snow!!"

My chin dropped.  I rubbed my eyes and took a better look at my children.  Yep.  They were mine.  The same ones I had tucked into bed last night.  But seriously??? Not like snow??  Is that normal for kids?  I mean, I don't like snow...but that didn't happen until I was sixteen and got the dubious honor of driving in it--which quickly ended my love-affair with the frozen stuff. 

Now, as a "happy homeowner,"  I also get to shovel it...reinforcing my dislike.

Then it dawned on me:  My boys dislike snow because it puts a serious cramp in their daily paper route.  Normally, they hop on their bikes and zip through it in fifteen minutes.  Today, they had to pull on boots and trudge through twenty feet of snow...uphill...both ways...to deliver our ten page (on a newsy day) paper to all of the subscribers in our neighborhood.  

Responsibility sure is a fun-killer.